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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23389648">Cartagena</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/keeper0fthestars/pseuds/keeper0fthestars'>keeper0fthestars</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Narcos (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Fluff, Narcos - Freeform, POV Third Person, Pedro Pascal - Freeform, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, allusions to smutty things, and also a break, javi needs a fucking break, javier peña - Freeform, javier peña imagine, short and sweet, so i decided to give him one, this is so soft i'm sorry</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 15:46:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>924</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23389648</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/keeper0fthestars/pseuds/keeper0fthestars</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Javier takes a few days off</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Javier Peña/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Cartagena</h2></a>
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    <p>She can't keep her eyes off him. She wishes she could stop staring at the way his lips hug the edge of his beer bottle, at the wet sheen it leaves on his mouth before the back of his index finger wipes it away. One forearm relaxed on the table, his thumb tracing a path down through the beads of condensation on the amber bottle.<br/>
Her eyes are drawn to the breadth of those shoulders, how his dark shirt hugs his chest and arms and hangs loose at the waist of his jeans. The top buttons are undone, exposing the notch at the bottom of his throat and a little more. Sun-kissed skin on display, even the smooth veins down his arms that never seem to lay flat. She can’t get enough of the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs, his thick hair still messy from sleeping late, with scruff to match because she likes it when he forgets his razor at home and he knows that. It occurs to her at this moment she would easily sell her soul to see him this relaxed and content forever.</p><p>There are dozens of other people in this place, but he can’t bring himself to care because the only thing worth his attention is sitting just beyond his left arm across the corner of their table. She picks his aviators off the table and slides them to the top of her head, the striking orange lenses matching the patterns on her dress and just like that he understands why he's always being teased about the way they match. Something shiny on her wrist catches his eye just then and smiling, he wonders when she'd decided to slip on his watch. The warm breeze is circling them lifting the hair off her neck, leaving goose-bumps down her shoulders, and every so often he gets a fresh hit of her scent, enough to make his head buzz and God, she wasn't kidding when she'd told him two hours is too long to spend out of bed. But he doesn't need a chunky silver timepiece to tell him how long it will take them to get back to their rented room with the cherimoya bushes underneath their balcony. His eyes on her mouth, his knees splay under the table, nudging her leg, and nothing could interrupt this fixation.</p><p>A knee touches hers under the table, warm and intimate, and her eyes flash up to find his gaze intent, focused, noticing the way she's been taking him in. Slouching in his chair, his leg slides farther against hers, the contact sending a brilliant thrill up her leg, heavy heat pooling between them. His elbow leans on the arm of his chair towards her, an unconscious gesture, as though he’s never close enough. His mouth is hiding the softest sinful curve like he’s remembering something delicious and probably dirty because his eyes have darkened to a bottomless hue, a look she knows only too well. Her insides ignite like a match and suddenly she's back on that lounger on their balcony straddling his hips, gasping against the slow precise twist of his fingers between her legs and the meticulous focus of his mouth on the taut wet fabric of her bikini top. Seeing nothing but stars, she had covered her mouth to hold in the whimpers, his broken curses and raspy stubble against her bare skin unravelling her yet again. Demanding her to cum. Once more for him. Again.</p><p>The memory of it makes her clench, her skin tingling and her spine on fire, effectively drowning out the dull chatter of clinking forks and Margarita glasses on the patio because god the list of illegal things she would do to this man is staggering. Even at two o’clock in the afternoon and smack in the middle of the busiest restaurant on the fucking island. She reaches for her mojito, lest her cheeks burst into flames, knowing that she won’t be able to pick it up off the table without trembling. Somehow she manages to drain half the glass and of course, he notices her struggle because his mouth twitches and he waits until he has her full attention again before sliding his gaze down her face, her bare arms, his eyes catching on the flimsy low neckline of her dress, his jaw clenches and his throat bobs before dragging his gaze back up locking his eyes on hers.</p><p>He wants nothing more than to pull the string loose behind her neck that holds her dress up, because fuck, nothing will ever ease his constant ache to be buried inside her to the hilt, her hair a tangled sweaty mess, her back arching, her eyes glassy and unfocused, her nails digging half-moon shapes on his chest and shoulders. He will never get enough of the sounds she makes for him, the way she gasps his name and comes undone for him.</p><p>He sees her shift, squirming in her chair, she can’t help it. He tries to keep his face under control but it’s no use. The bloom in her eyes, the shallowness of her breath, he knows how ridiculously wet she is right now and it makes him roll his tongue over his bottom lip knowing how she would taste, reaching to his back pocket for his wallet, pulling out the first few bills he sees and slipping them quietly underneath the salt shaker and there’s not enough blood left in his brain to care if anyone notices that they’ve left. - - -</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thank you for reading :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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